The ground underneath her feet was paved, though the covering surrounding her was older, more solid, more for beauty than function. The darkness here was safe, comforting. She didn’t want to step into the light just yet. She knew what was out there and the thought of it terrified her.
Missy reached the end of the bridge and squinted in the bright sunlight. She realized now how disoriented she was. Looking around, nothing looked familiar. Not the trees, not the creek that rushed beneath the bridge, not the road that crept out of sight ahead. Where was she?
A red pickup truck appeared from the woods and rumbled towards her. Slowly, she moved out of its way, her side striking the safety railing behind her unexpectedly. As she turned to look at the rusted metal bars, rubbing her bruised hip with her hand, the truck rolled to a stop. She turned just as the passenger window rolled down.
A young man with dark curly hair, dressed in a plaid shirt, leaned over toward her. “You look lost,” he said with a flirtatious grin.
She stared at him, confused, finally answering, “No. I fell.” She raised her hand to touch the back of her head. She didn’t know why she did that, but when she brought her hand back forward, her fingertips were streaked with bright red blood. The sight made her panic and she started to hyperventilate.
Suddenly, the young man was at her side, opening the passenger side door of his truck and helping her inside. She climbed in with his help, still staring at her fingers. She didn’t hear what he was saying. All she could do was stare at the streaks of red, bringing her hand closer and closer to her face until she could see the dark liquid resting in the crevices of her fingerprints.
Her mind raced with one thought - “Is this my blood?” It was such a simple question, yet she didn’t know the answer.
Click here to read Missy, Part 2
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